As I tightened my laces waiting in my starting corral at the 117th Boston Marathon on April 15th 2013, a nervous feeling ran through my body. You see, contrary to popular belief, no matter how many races I have done in the past, every time I (and probably every athlete) still get jitters before a big event. However, I don't mind them and try to turn my nerves into adrenaline. . . .The starting gun sounded. . . and we were off!

The Boston Marathon is the most challenging, while at the same time, my favorite course for many reasons. It runs through seven quaint Massachusetts towns with amazing crowd support the entire way. The race is always on Patriots Day which by tradition falls on a Monday. Patriots Day is basically the equivalent of the Super Bowl in Boston. Also referred to as "Marathon Monday", nearly all Bostonians are off work and emphatically supporting the runners (often with a tad of partying involved, of course). The supporters are out for hours tirelessly encouraging and even handing out orange slices, candy and water. I cannot explain enough how much the crowd support is appreciated and helps with motivation during the challenging hills along the course.

I'm not sure words can express how amazing it is to see how electric the city is as a whole during this weekend. Red Sox gear is an undeniable staple at all times....The adored team also plays that day, of course on their Patriots Day; so most likely, if you live in Boston, you are either cheering on the runners or the Red Sox! Either way, I am amazed by this city every time I visit. The sheer PRIDE "Bostonians" have is unprecedented by any other place I have had the privilege to see.

One of my favorite personal traditions during the marathon is to hang on the right side of the course and slap as many kids hands as possible. I get the biggest kick out of a kid's reaction when a runner slaps his/her hand. It's as if the runner was the president when they hit their hand and they beam with glee at the interaction! Another tradition I have is to dedicate each mile to someone that is important to me in my life and adorn the list on my arms via a black sharpie. During their mile, I think about that person and what they mean to me. It really makes the time "run" by!

My truly favorite mile is between 12 and 13 (about half way) where it passes through the adorable town of Wellesley. . . home of the girls school Wellesley College. Thousands of young and hilarious women are screaming their lungs out, in bright red lipstick, BEGGING to kiss runners. They are in rare form, and it is clear that this day is verrrryyyy important to them. I LOVE IT! This year after passing the ear drum torching scene, a guy turned to me and with a big red smacker on his cheek said "That is the best mile ever!" and I replied with an agreeing laugh.

I'm not going to lie; it was my hardest marathon to date. I had an injury last year, and hadn't run this distance since. However, I mentally made it to Boylston Street and during the last 3 blocks of the challenging run I slapped about 10 more kids' hands on my way to the finish line.

Woo-Hoo! I was finished! As I grabbed my water, medal and energy bars I thanked the volunteers and received dozens of "Congratulations!" from these generous people. As I gimped my way to my gear check bus, I was asked by several of them if I was okay. . . and I remember thinking that the organizers of this famous race do such an amazing job and take spectacular care of the runners. I grabbed my stuff, and called my husband. He told me that my sister, Jenny, who was also running, was due to finish soon. With relief, I headed to her bus excited to see her. My runner tracker on my phone dinged that she indeed was finished, and in an effort to not stiffen up by waiting there I decided to slowly head toward the finish in hopes to find her. As I walk facing the finish line, my eyes are fixed in the opposite direction than most others are heading, hoping to find her. Then all of the sudden. . . .BOOM! "A firework?", I think. But I suddenly realize that it isn't the case, seeing the large smoke cloud above, I notice that it is just inside the finish line. And then another. . . BOOM! I start walking backwards in disbelief of what I know this really meant. They were bombs. I start shaking and wonder when and where the next one will detonate. Police start running and yelling "Move!" Delirious post-marathon runners are understandably confused and not sure what to do and most seem to be unaware of the enormity of what happened and is happening about 2 blocks away.

All the sudden, the normal, somewhat "nerdy" post-marathon finishers' banter that typically includes: time splits, energy gel usage and whether or not they walked or ran up the infamous Heartbreak Hill quickly faded. We all began to realize that the situation is dangerous; strangers asking whoever to use their phone. . . frantically calling loved ones, sirens are blaring, people are being shuffled out of Boylston and in the matter of a couple minutes, a beautiful day of Boston celebration quickly turned into a nightmare.

I quickly called my husband and panickly told him that something very bad happened, and at that moment to my extreme relief, Jenny called me. I obviously hadn't seen her pass in the chaos. When we met up, she told me that she heard that the subways were closed. Since we were staying in the town of Quincy, 8 miles outside of the city, we felt very vulnerable, confused and to top it off, freezing. We were directed to a station about a mile away. My mom called and was concerned about us getting on the subway. Although I agreed, I also knew we didn't have a choice. When we finally returned to our hotel, the TVs in the lobby were frantically reporting on the reality of the horrible events and we were overcome with sorrow, anger, guilt and fear. I couldn't stop thinking about the last 10 hand slaps from the glossy eyed kids and the stands full of people who were selflessly there for US and how several of them were now in the hospital with life threatening injuries, or worse.

The past weeks have been very difficult and the support of our friends, family and clients has been immeasurable. Witnessing something like this has certainly changed my perspective on life in many ways.

We may never understand exactly why or how something like this can happen. What can bring people to do such a horrible thing to so many people is unanswerable. There is no sense in this. While this event will change the history of Boston and the marathon forever, I deeply hope (and know to be true) that it will not change the heart of that awesome city and the pride that the people have for being Bostonians. I plan to be back next year, and I know many new names that will be represented on my arms next year 😄 ALL IN FOR BOSTON!